movements come and movements go

[caballero]

Who: Bruce, Logan, Jason, and some friendly NPCs (no).
What: The Militia enacts a brutal raid, and your friendly neighborhood wanted terrorists interrupt it. This goes about as well as it sounds like it would.
Where: Flag Hill (west side)... for now.
When: A few days after the Militia announcement.
Notes: This is another one of those incidents that's going to get snagged by the media blackout and never reported on, but we're well past the point of no return with word-of-mouth about civilian-Militia skirmishes.
Warnings: Violence, police brutality. Samm's icon choices.

It becomes apparently not long into his searching that whatever's going on is probably a trap.

There's a “college group” that meets in a cliffside pub biweekly in Flag Hill, and with minimal digging, the fact that it's a local anti-Militia activist group is easy to uncover. Mostly young people and a few mentors who've seen and heard it all, they're passionate, edgy, but mostly peaceful – more bark than bite. With far more than minimal digging, barely-there rumors can be sifted up through the dirt suggesting that the Militia is going to be in the area that night for unrelated reasons – though what reasons, no one knows. Making an arrest? Making a buy? Meeting with informants, meeting with their mysterious, anonymous suppliers?

It's kind of an obvious trap though, Bruce thinks. All it would take is someone figuring out that those dates and locations overlap to deduce that the Militia wants to smash-and-grab both the kids in the bar and whatever vigilantes or fearless journalists show up to cash in on the rumor mill. But, he doesn't discount the notion that it might intentionally seem obvious.

Which is why he's here now, hidden in an otherwise alarmingly unsafe alcove against the cliff wall, watching the bar in question be swiftly surrounded by hooded agents. There's too many of them to do much of anything about at the present time, and besides, there's always the chance they're just going to go in there and scare people instead of making mass arrests – bursting in trying to help might just do damage. So he waits.. and then spots a familiar silhouette and gait: the telekenetic woman responsible for his smashed ribs the week before. Hm. He thinks – well, he'd better be pretty damn sure, huh? - that they found him last time by tracking the radio signal, even though he'd been certain they didn't have that kind of tech (and demonstratably hadn't, before). He's changed it up for now (obviously), but he knows after this he'll have to keep changing it every time. Even with sabotage, they're keeping up. And quickly.

From inside the bar, someone screams. A heartbeat later, a hooded man is dragging out a boy who can't be more than eighteen by his hair.

Well. Shit.

Bruce adjusts the catch of the sword across his back, and starts to move closer along the cliff wall, high above the action.

Comments

[goodsoldier]

Not at all to his credit, Jason is much less proactive about herding people. Once he'd tossed the device, he'd started towards the kitchen exit before yelling and gesturing at people for them to go. He's not going out of his way to grab or drag anyone; the most he'll do is make those nearest to him go first.

And it's funny. There's nothing in his experience directly analogous to what's happening right now, but when the girl recognizes the masked guy, he has a deep and terrible suspicion. Her tone of voice — no, it is an irrelevant and irritating suspicion, so he pushes it aside. Fuck it and fuck everything. The thing is to get out. If he 'follows' the masked guy, it's because that's the nearest exit. It has nothing to do with anything and the masked guy cannot possibly give a shit if he does or doesn't.

[perfectcameo]

The last those one the way out hear of Logan would be the sounds that come from close-contact battle, wood chips flying as claws injure furniture over flesh. This one has an irritating ability to dissolve into ashy vapour and resolve again immediately, avoiding the bites of adamantium that would otherwise rend him to pieces, and they trade blows until Logan wins out on timing and buries claws through his torso, and looks to who next thinks it's a good idea to either square with him or chase the civilians.

Murder is easy, when he's like this. Which isn't an excuse, because however much of an animal he is when he fights -- animal had always been the word, not monster -- is negated by how infrequently he backs down. Human stubbornness, human negligence towards his own survival instinct, doesn't matter how tough he is.

But still. It's easy to lose track of time, at least.

Everyone here signed up for this.

[caballero]

Bruce is - not shocked; shocked would imply a level of naivety beyond even his most fragile idealistic moments. Resigned, maybe, to the hole this entire thing is eating open inside of him. He is against killing when it makes him judge and executioner, when it would be an act that would nullify the system he strives to reform. To kill a criminal in Gotham would campaign against the city -

- yet he knows the power of death. He knows the added terror on the streets now that Batman has killed half a dozen corrupt cops, killed Harvey Dent, killed Ra's al Ghul. And he knows half of that rumor is true. Something deep inside of him will always flinch with every kill Logan makes, even if he knows that there's no system to respect here, that there's no other way, that hesitating would only hurt the cause.

He doesn't have to like it.

An agent, sneaky little thing, manages to shimmy in from one side of the far, launching himself towards Bruce. He jams the heel of his palm against the attacker's chin, then yanks him forward by one arm, twisting around and slamming his other hand into the backside of his elbow while driving him to his knees. The Militiaman screams, ragged, hovering there in excruciating pain facing Jason - but Bruce doesn't do anything further yet, instead looking out into the clearing.

"Logan." It's barely audible even in the bar, but it's not meant for anyone in the bar. His tone, even through the distortion filter, is both an attention-grab and warning. The civilians are clear, and there's no way anyone without a healing factor can get out there next to him and do any good. Is he staying or going?

[goodsoldier]

In the particular mood he's in, and impatient as he is to get out, Jason does something even he considers rude, which is kick the militia guy in the throat so he'll stop screaming. The rudeness is not towards him but towards the masked guy, who had the opportunity to kill the agent but clearly chose to disable instead. Given Jason's suspicions, the potentially fatal kick (it could have crushed the trachea) is probably even more rude. He acts, however, like it was something he did out of pragmatism. Technically it was, but it wasn't necessary either, and even if he's blank faced and not even looking at Bruce — he's staying alert, he has the truncheon out again and is hurrying the last people out and on their way — there is a tension to his jaw that he won't bother to hide.

Anyway, it's not like the kick was worse than anything Logan just did.

[perfectcameo]

His name. Logan, wired, whips around, teeth bared, but he is not-- unstable? Jury is out and it depends on your definition of that, but there is adrenaline and momentum and his task is killing so expects that he's being urged to do more of that and--

Sees that the civvies are clear. Right. Claws do not snikt back up his hands and wrists, left out, but Logan ceases fire enough to think, especially now that another lies dead at his feet and no one is eager to be the next.

He turns, and will follow, and fend off those that may try to pursue.

[caballero]

If Jason looks long enough, he'll see the masked figure turn his head slightly to observe that debilitating kick - faintly incredulous, and not in a 'How dare you potentially murder someone I've got a hold of' way, but in a very distinct, 'Excuse you, I was using this person's shrieking to cover the fact that I just said somebody's name' way.

Alas, the effect is diminished by his entire face being covered.

But that look is all there is, and it's over in a heartbeat as Bruce drops the now-prone man and steps back, keeping the remaining Militia agents in sight. Argo's looking right at them, but he's noticed the same thing - that the civilians are all clear - and apparently that means he's done caring about collateral damage. Bruce pauses for one moment to nod at him.

See you again.

Then he's gone, out the back of the bar, assured Logan his on his heels, and - goddamnit, that had better not be the sound of winged or flying or gecko-handed agents back there--

[goodsoldier]

Oh but it is. Jason, by virtue of being behind Bruce, feels it necessary to react even though Logan the razor-clawed killing machine is also there. It is tempting to think of him as an impassable obstacle, but given the weird noise he heard the guy make after the feedback device, he's sure the militia, of anybody in Baedal, can find ways. So the truncheon gets ditched and he goes for his own gun this time. The bullets are unlikely to pierce armor, but flight armor should be lighter and configured to allow the agents maneuverability; there will be targets. Those that look like they're going to bypass Logan will be shot at.

[perfectcameo]

It's pretty difficult to run and fight at the same time. It's why they are so often painted as binary oppositions. Logan shifts his focus to this former thing, staggering only when projects try to land themselves in his back and even the back of his head and don't appear to slow him when he is this amount of riled. Things that get close are backhanded with sharp metal.

But then something manages to get ahead of him, bowling him over and leaping forward in pursuit -- its shape is twisting and leathery wings make it a perfect predator up here, and though Jason's bullets are aimed truly, they find armour and armoured flesh both.

It's like a fatal and bloody game of leap frog. Before it can get close enough to kick someone down a ravine, Logan is back up and leaping, an arm wrapping around what approximate's the agent's throat, the other hand using claws through ribcage to anchor himself in. He is not only strong and fast, but he's heavy -- momentum slams both himself and the shapeshifting, winged agent aside, and a split second later, there's a crack as rickety wooden support rails are shattered, and both disappear suddenly over the edge.

Later.

[civilobedience]

The agent is a shapeshifter, but not one so crudely confined to human structure. A small, slim man in his raw form, he can be anything - and his favorite is this, claws and scales and wings. They protrude from specialized holes in his uniform, unconstrained. He shrieks, an animal war cry, before sinking teeth into the target's shoulder. This is good. It's fun, this heated battled. The Militia took him on long ago, and fed all of his desires. He enjoys being loyal to people such as these.

The fall is thrilling, as is the blood in his mouth. He can devour this vigilante, and then crawl out of the ravine.

Claws sink further in. They ricochet off a rock outcropping, heedless, still tumbling. His wings slither closer to his back and transform into whip-like spines, all angles of him primed for gore.

[perfectcameo]

Good and fun are not words that Logan banters around easily, especially not when it comes to this. It's the difference between himself and Creed. Which matters. It was definitely important at some stage. Right now, as quick-healing muscle and flesh is battered between rocks and the adamantium frame it's roped to, it matters fuck all.

Usually he doesn't bleed a lot, but by now his clothing is patched wet with it. Only really able to tell which way is up by the fact he is plummeting away from it at neck-breaking speed, Logan claws and tears and punches at the twisting form that changes and adapts around him.

Some ambitious structure of wood that might have made some sort of pit stop once is splintered as they both crash through it, but it's enough to shake them apart suddenly. Logan twists on instinct, hands and claws both reaching for the incline of jagged rock and finding handhold. The halt jars abruptly through him, saved from dislocation of-- every joint involved by virtue of metal. Claws find purchase in a crack in the cliff face, and his feet dangle, before a boot toe finds a place. Beneath his clothing, torn in places, flesh knits back together where a bite's been taken out of it.

A growl that is more animal than man reverberates from his chest, more concerned about where his newest friend has gone than he is about climbing up as he twists a look up, and then down.

[civilobedience]

His newest friend is stuck lizard-like to the wall several yards below him, but is quickly scaling closer. The agent's body seems disfigured and contorted, making the fact that he's still got that uniform on even more disturbing - and he's lost the hood, revealing an offsettingly human face, grinning with mania and bloodlust.

This is the sort of obvious xenian the Militia employs: ones either by personality or nature so cruel that they would find no community elsewhere. Ones that have no qualms about devouring their own kind for sport, for pay. Ones that have no moral issue with being used, so long as they're given toys to play with.

The agent leaps, grabbing Logan's feet, and begins to crawl up his form.

[perfectcameo]

Not okay.

Logan continues to cling to cliff wall, claws scraping paler lines into rock when the shapeshifter gets a grip on one of his legs. The other immediately kicks, boot heel to grinning face, but the thing has taken worse injury than just that and it's not slowing him soon.

"God, you're an ugly son of a bitch," Logan tells the general vicinity, before he braces a knee against the rock and propels himself away from it just as a scaly arm finds a place to wrap around his throat. It's strong enough that they'll impact against the other side of the ravine.

[civilobedience]

Crunch. Even if this thing is shifting around and pretty durable, he doesn't have a healing factor, so that hurt a bit, a fact made obvious by how his grip loosens on the moment of sandwiched impact. The agent manages to hang on to Logan, but it's definitely noteworthy that if you hit him at the right angle, he flinches.

The agent hisses something unintelligible, probably whatever his native language is, and attempts to claw at his face.